solitude.
If so, she’d screwed that up for him. She hoped he wouldn’t go back under the bed, but at the very least she’d get him some water. Poor thing, he must be parched after his ordeal.
Hurrying into the kitchen, she chose a ceramic brownie pan and ran water into it. Then she carried it into her bedroom.
The wolf stood poised, as if ready to crawl under the bed again if she approached him.
“It’s only water. I’ll put it in the bathroom. I’d rather you didn’t drip water on the hardwood floor.” Turning, she walked into the bathroom and found a spot in the corner. When she came out, the wolf hadn’t moved.
“I would love to get a look at your wounds. Will you let me do that?”
He backed up.
“Okay, okay.” She held out both hands, palms forward. “I said I wouldn’t mess with you, and I won’t. Ever since I got out the scissors and the razor, you’ve acted different. I wonder if your former owners hurt you with a pair of scissors. Maybe they tried to trim your fur and nicked you. Is that what happened?”
The wolf, of course, said nothing.
Rachel blew out a breath. “I have to stop asking you questions as if I expect you to answer. I wish you could talk, though, because you’re a fascinating puzzle.” She looked into the wolf’s solemn eyes. “You’re not going to move until I get back into bed, are you?”
She could almost hear the answer just by looking at him. “Right. I’ll get into bed so you can have a drink of water.” Climbing in, she pulled the sheet over her and lay back on the pillows. “There, I’m settled. Get your drink.”
The wolf’s nails clicked slowly across the wooden floor as he walked into the bathroom. The sound of lapping told her he was drinking. Good. He needed to stay hydrated. She should have thought of it earlier, but she’d been so intent on his wounds, and then he’d hidden under the bed.
After drinking the water, he came back into the bedroom. She lay very still and hoped he would choose the quilt instead of squeezing under her bed. Or maybe he’d go back into the kitchen and close himself in again.
Following the sound of his toenails on the floor and mentally calculating where he was going, she relaxed when he walked over to the corner of her room and flopped down on the bed she’d made for him there. She’d rest easier knowing he had a comfortable place to sleep for what remained of the night. The luminous hands of the clock on her bedside table told her it was two in the morning.
Lying in the semidarkness, she longed for the eye mask that was tucked in her bedside table drawer. But she dared not get it out. The wolf might think she had secret plans to ambush him in his sleep.
On the contrary, she didn’t plan to disturb him until dawn. But in the morning, he’d need to go out to relieve himself. Once he was outside, nothing would prevent him from leaving. But he was still too sick, even if he didn’t realize that.
She couldn’t imagine tying him up to a deck support, though. A rope would never hold him. She’d need a chain and a large eyebolt, and even then, what sort of collar, if she even had one, would keep a wolf his size from getting loose? He’d hurt himself all over again lunging against any restraint she used.
Yet somehow she had to keep him here at least another day. That would require a creative maneuver on her part. She thought of the large cut of round steak she’d bought at the general store today. Maybe the wolf could be bribed.
• • •
The water helped, but Jake was starving. Shifts always made him hungry, but he’d never had to engineer a midshift reversal before, and he’d discovered that revved up his appetite even more. To make matters worse, he’d achieved only some of the healing he’d been angling for.
He was far from healed, but he planned to blow this taco stand first thing in the morning. She’d have to let him out for obvious reasons, and once she did, he was gone.
The evening had been a fascinating experience, but he’d come way too close to accidentally revealing himself. He wasn’t about to take that chance again, which meant he had to get out of this cabin so he could heal properly. A plane ticket to San Francisco sat in a desk drawer in his cabin, and he would be on that plane, come hell or high water.
He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by Rachel, even if he was currently stretched out on a quilt that smelled like her and made him want to stay. And he couldn’t let himself think about how she’d looked standing in the kitchen doorway wearing a nearly transparent tank top and running shorts, both in apple green.
And holding a baseball bat. His nose ached from that whack she’d given him. Unless he could shift soon, he was liable to end up with a bruise. But he could explain a bruise a lot easier than he could explain shaved fur.
He couldn’t blame Rachel for hitting him, either. She’d sensed something major was happening in her kitchen and she’d been right to react that way. If she’d had the tiniest inkling what those flickering lights actually meant, she would have hit him even harder.
He hated deceiving her, hated it worse than he’d expected to. She’d been so earnest and sweet about his injuries and his need for privacy. She’d jumped to all the wrong conclusions, but she was trying so hard to take care of him, even as he plotted his escape.
A woman like Rachel didn’t deserve to be jerked around like this, but he had no choice. That bothered him. It bothered him even more than the gnawing hunger that kept him awake until the sky grew lighter, signaling another Alaskan summer day.
Rachel woke early, sat up in bed, and immediately looked over at the corner where he lay. “Good morning, wolf. I hope you slept well.”
She looked adorable all tousled from sleep, her tank top slightly askew. He regretted that this would be the one and only time he’d see her waking up in her bed, because soon he’d be headed through the woods toward home.
Combing her hair back from her face, she swung her long legs out of bed and stood. “I’m sure you need a bathroom break.”
This was it. She’d open the back door, and he’d be out of her life. He’d never be this close to her again, and that was best . . . for him, for her, for the future security of Weres. If leaving her made him sad, he’d just have to let it go.
“When you come back in I’ll have a wonderful treat for you.”
Surely she didn’t expect him to waltz back into the cabin like a trained dog. He wondered what that imaginative brain of hers had come up with.
“I’ll go get it.”
Watching her walk around barefoot in that skimpy outfit was enough of a treat for him. It helped him forget the pain in his side and the empty feeling in his gut. Rising slowly to his feet, he followed her out of the bedroom.
She went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. His stomach clenched. Good thing she didn’t know how hungry he was. When she pulled out a package of meat, he resisted the urge to rip it from her hands. A real wolf would have.
“You can have this after you take care of business.” She pulled the cellophane off a heavenly-smelling slab of beef, opened a cupboard, and took down a platter.
One quick lunge and he’d have that meat. But then what? Could he imagine himself carrying it to some other part of the cabin and eating it off the floor? No, he could not. He was Were. He had his standards.
“Time to let you out the back door.” Opening a kitchen drawer, she took something out and tucked it in the waistband of her shorts.
She’d done it so quickly he hadn’t been able to see what it was. But it was too small to be of any consequence to him, so he forgot about it.
Then she hoisted the platter, walked through the living room, and unlocked the door to the deck. “I’ll leave the storm door and the screen open, and when you’re finished, you can come back and get your steak.”
Oh, she was clever, all right. She’d obviously figured out that he planned to run off the minute she opened that door. She was also smart enough to realize that tying him up was not a solution.
